The Jewel and The Regent
by Baka-Sensei
Summary: An SGA version of Disney's Aladdin. I swear it's not as lame as it sounds. McShep. Rodney has spent his life being persecuted for his work with Ancient devices. He dreams of a better life, but John knows that it isn't all it's cracked up to be.
1. Prologue

A/N: So...um... this is my first foray into SGA fanfiction... and it's also my first foray into crossover fics... Yeah. Please let me know what you think!

_Disclaimer: I do not own SGA or Disney's Aladdin. And yes, I am aware of the fact that I am insanely lame for combining them. Thank you. _

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**_It begins on a dark night..._**

Millions of pinprick points of light shone out from behind the vast darkness of the sky. The bright illumination of a full moon swept over the vast dunes of a wasteland. Occasionally, a breath of wind would swirl white grains of sand into the air. Those who dwelled in the city told tales that thousands of years ago, these wastelands had been covered by a great ocean. It was said that any who ventured into the haunted hills of pure white sand would never return.

At the top of the most massive of dunes, a dark figure sat mounted on an even darker horse. His pock-marked face twisted into a sardonic grin at the remembered warnings of the elders. Fools, all of them, to shun the one place where the greatest treasures of their Ancestors lay, to instill that fear into their children from the time they were old enough to understand speech. It wasn't death that lay in these deserted hills; it was the only hope for a future. Or, he amended mentally, in his case, the only hope to shape it to his will.

Beyond the whistle of the wind, he heard the trod of hooves shifting in the sand. Another horse trailed by a cloud of white trotted up the hill to meet him. He tensed in anticipation, his well-trained mount shifting to paw at the ground as if sensing his master's excitement. The creak of leather and the clink of metal spurs announced the arrival of the second man.

"You… are late," the dark man stated, his words biting into the relative silence.

"A thousand apologies, my lord," the smaller man said.

"You have it, then?"

"It was a bit harder to procure than we had originally thought, but I did get it." He reached into one of the saddle bags, rustled around for a moment, and brought out what looked like a tiny, silver puzzle piece. The light glinted off of it and into the dark man's eyes as he reached out for it. The second man pulled it back before he could grab it. "Wait a moment. You said you had the means to cure my sister. Where is it?"

Almost before his sentence was finished, there was a sharp, high pitched cry into the night air and the small silver trinket was snatched from his hand by clever talons. The falcon dropped the pilfered item into her master's outstretched hand before perching on an offered forearm.

"Patience, my friend," the dark man told him. "You'll get what's coming to you." The falcon let out a short shriek as if in agreement.

Reaching into his cloak, the dark man pulled out the second half of the puzzle. Carefully, he fit the two pieces together to form what looked like an upside down V with a circle placed at the point.

Immediately, a buzzing noise filled the air as the puzzle lit up with a bright blue shine. It jumped out of its owner's hand to spin crazily in the air for a moment, then dart off between the dunes. The falcon shrieked and took to the sky.

"Quickly, follow the trail!" the dark man shouted, spurring his horse into action and trusting his companion to follow.

The puzzle led them on a winding path through the sand, the horses kicking up dust at a pounding speed in order to keep pace. Finally, the glowing puzzle split into two pieces a few hundred yards ahead of them, embedding itself in a sandy bank. The ground shuddered and shifted, splitting apart, sand spilling down as fluidly as a great waterfall. A shimmering spire punched it's jagged way from underneath, rising thousands of feet into the air to be silhouetted by the full moon.

"Finally," the dark man breathed, nearly awestruck, "The Tower of the Ancients."

"By the Ancestors," his companion muttered, his eyes wide.

"There you have it," the dark man snapped, turning to glare at the other. "The cure for your sister no doubt lies inside, along with countless more treasures. Take anything you want, but remember that the artifact we discussed belongs to me."

"How will I know the cure when I see it?" the second man asked doubtfully.

"It will be made clear to you, I am sure. The Ancestors will see to that. Just remember to bring me back the Intelligence."

His face still masked in equal parts of wonder and wariness, the second man dismounted, cautiously walking to the single door etched into the side of the massive tower. As he reached the entrance, there was a flash of light, and suddenly, a woman dressed in white appeared before him. He gave a gasp of surprise.

"Who disturbs my slumber?" she asked, her eyes searching, prompting his answer.

"Ladon Radim," he choked out. "My sister is afflicted with the ancient plague. I seek the cure."

The woman's eyes narrowed even more.

"Know this," she said. "Only one may enter here. One whose worth lies within his mind. The Jewel of Atlantis."

Ladon looked back at the dark man questioningly.

"What are you waiting for?" the dark man barked. "Go on!"

Slowly, Ladon took a small step forward.

"Analyzing," the woman stated as a beam of light swept over Ladon's body. As the last of the beam faded, the woman's eyes were consumed in glowing red as bright as ruby.

"Analysis: unacceptable," she boomed as a high pitched whine filled the air, the vibrations from it causing Ladon to fall to his knees.

The bright red light shot from her eyes into the kneeling man's face. With a strangled scream, his skin seemed to glow red from the inside out, blistering apart and vanishing until suddenly, there was nothing left of him but a black crater in the sand. The ground began to rumble again, and as quickly as it had appeared, the Tower of the Ancients sank back into the sand.

"Seek thee out the Jewel of Atlantis," the woman's voice whispered over the dunes as the last of the sand settled.

With a shriek, the falcon dove from the sky, picking up the two pieces of the puzzle that had been left resting on top of the sand and returning them to her master. She landed on his forearm and began snapping her beak in an angry gesture, shifting and clenching her talons. Her sharp eyes narrowed at the crater where Ladon Radim had once stood.

"Patience, Sora," Acastus Kolya soothed as he stroked the feathers of her brow. "Radim was obviously less than worthy." Sora clucked almost sarcastically. "It seems we have a problem," Kolya continued, letting out a dry chuckle.

"I must find this… Jewel of Atlantis."


	2. One Swing Ahead of the Sword

AN: So the casting probably isn't gonna go the way you're thinking it is. But it works... trust me. :D

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_**One Swing Ahead of the Sword**_

The city lay perched on the edge of the great wasteland. Simple stone and mud buildings lined dirt roads, the richer homes noticeable by the glass covered windows and metal guilded doors that did more to keep the occasional sandstorm out. Mostly, windows and doors were covered in a harsh woven cloth of muted colors. Carts full of wares lined the street in the market square, and most of the people lived a simple existence with relatively little excitement.

"Stop, thief!" Officer Bates of the Regent's Guard screamed. "I'll have your hands for a trophy, street rat!"

"Oh, please," Rodney Mckay scoffed from his hiding place in a nearby alley. "Even if the practice wasn't completely barbaric, it's been outlawed for nearly three generations now. Besides, since when was conning imbeciles out of their money considered stealing? If you ask me, I'm doing society a favor. Weeding out the weak genes and all that. Not that I buy into that medical mumbo-jumbo."

He seemed to completely ignore the fact that he was talking to himself.

After a few minutes, he cautiously left his hiding place, attempting to get lost in the crowd of market-goers. He should have remembered that the universe seemed to hate him, as he managed to run, quite literally, into another Regent Guard with a muffled _oof!_ The younger (_and much stronger_) man gave him a shark-like grin before tackling him to the ground.

"Here he is!" the Guard shouted, struggling to keep Rodney pinned. "I've got him!"

"The hell you do," Rodney grumbled, twisting painfully and grabbing one of his very handy and oh-so-genius-if-he-did-say-so-himself inventions from where he kept it strapped to his thigh. He pointed the barrel into the Guard's side and pulled the trigger. The device sent out a jolting shockwave of electricity that caused the man to yelp and roll off of him to curl into the fetal position. His face red and huffing from the exertion, Rodney rose to his feet and dusted himself off.

It really shouldn't have been so easy to catch the other man off guard, Rodney thought. He snorted in disgust at the near-sightedness of practically _everyone_ who wasn't… well, him. The Guard wouldn't have expected Rodney's shock gun to be capable of causing such damage. To him, Rodney was sure, even the concept of a gun was completely foreign.

Ever since he was a little boy, Rodney had never understood why everyone placed the artifacts of their Ancestors on such a high pedestal. Sure, he could see why they should be treated with respect, but that didn't mean they shouldn't be tinkered with at _all_. No one seemed to understand Rodney's outrage at how people wastefully used the things as holy relics in some cases, family heirlooms in others, and for the particularly unrecognizable bits, even as jewelry and paperweights.

Rodney had known from a very early age that he was different than the other people he lived among. For one, he'd quickly mastered all the skills taught at what passed for schools here before most other children his age had mastered sentence structure. They'd said he was a genius, a prodigy, that he'd go far as a scholar, but the scholarly subjects open for studying (_history, medicine, _plants_, for God's sake!_) just didn't interest him. He'd quickly amassed all of what little books and scrolls were available on the subject of mathematics and physics and then begun to write his own.

That's when they had started to get nervous. He was too ambitious, they said, too far reaching. He didn't have the proper respect for those who had come before him. When he'd begun studying, testing, and dismantling the Ancient relics he'd had at his disposal, nervousness had turned to anger. He'd been shunned, shut out, had his research taken away. The first two he could've handled, but the last one still stung.

The superstitious awe the people of the city placed on any technology was laughable. The heretical and nearly treasonous status that Rodney attained through his stubborn insistence on studying the technology anyway wasn't quite so laughable as it was depressing. And painful. Especially if they caught him and discovered the shock gun he'd hobbled together from a couple of the Ancestors' artifacts and his own design.

"There they are!" another Guard yelled almost immediately from 30 or so yards away. "You won't get away so easily!"

"You think that was easy?" Rodney grumbled before running in the opposite direction. He _hated _running for his life, dammit. He wished he would manage to avoid doing it so often.

A few more twisting turns through alleys and side-streets, and finally he had to stop to catch his breath. He bent, hands on his knees, gasping as adrenaline coursed through his body.

"Getting into trouble a little early today, aren't we Rodney?" an accented voice questioned suddenly. Rodney nearly jumped out of his skin.

"Holy crap, Carson, don't _do _that!" Rodney shouted, then cringed and looked around to make sure he hadn't been discovered.

Carson Beckett glared disapprovingly at him. He was a brilliant doctor (_medical, sadly_), newly appointed as the personal attendant of the Regent and High Consort at the palace (_with shiny research labs and dozens of other doctors at his disposal, damn him_), and Rodney's best and only friend (_well, besides Teyla)._ Carson hailed from a country far to the west but had been forced to travel the long distance to relocate his sick mother years ago. Something about the climate here being better for her health. Rodney would never understand medicine.

They'd met at a time before Rodney's total exile from the higher ranks of academia. Carson had the dubious honor of being the only person to be able to even remotely follow the theories and equations that Rodney almost constantly rambled on about. Though he lived at the palace now, Carson still came into the city frequently to visit his ailing mother. From the pinched and worried expression on his face, Rodney assumed he'd just come from there.

"Really, man, when are you going to stop this damn fool lifestyle of yours?" Carson asked as the worried expression on his face seemed to double in force

He was referring, of course, to Rodney's current… _profession._ It was fairly easy to make a pair of weighted dice, to cheat at cards (_especially if you could count them in your sleep_), or to perform some slight of hand that left the victim's wallet considerably lighter than it had been before. It was simply a manner of applied math and physics, really. Cut off from any other feasible way of making a living (_no one would have anything to do with a blasphemer, apparently_), Rodney was sometimes a little surprised at the depths to which he'd stooped in order to survive.

"What, you mean I should stop doing anything that requires money? Sure, I can do without _some_ creature-comforts, but I'm sort of partial to food. Shall I just explain to the Regent's Guards the dangers of hypoglycemic comas over tea? Think they'll listen sympathetically and _not_ lock me up and throw away the key?"

"That's not what I meant, Rodney, and you know it. You could always get a real job instead of swindling people out of their money."

"Well, I don't know if you'd noticed, but I'm a bit of a social outcast who can't even get a damn _reference letter_, much less a real job. Perhaps I _could_ become a dung shoveler or a fish merchant, but you _know _how I feel about shit and fish, Carson."

"Aye, except I thought you were rather fond of bullshit, seeing as you spew it out every five seconds."

"Oh, haha," Rodney sneered. "I'm sure it's fairly easy to judge how those less fortunate get by. Yes, you certainly make the rest of us mucking about in the slums seem foolish."

Carson flushed guiltily.

"You know it isn't like that, Rodney," he defended himself. "I'm sorry that things are the way they are, but you must have faith that times are changing. Maybe one day you'll be free to research and invent whatever you want, but until then you should focus on not getting yourself killed." The concern in his blue eyes was very real, and it humbled Rodney a little to see it. For all that Rodney yelled at him and was jealous of his position, Carson really was a good man. But he just couldn't take Carson's advice seriously.

"I can't slink around and hide or put my research on the back-burner while I get a job that any idiot could do. I'd rather starve than do that," he answered sadly. Carson nodded.

"I know. And before I offer for the 60th time, I know you won't accept any help from me, you proud git. I just wish you wouldn't get yourself into so much trouble."

Rodney's mouth twisted into a lop-sided grin.

"Trouble? You're only in trouble if you get caught."

No sooner had he said the words than a strong pair of hands spun him around, holding his arms immobile at his sides in a grip Rodney couldn't shake.

"Got ya!" Bates grinned triumphantly at him.

"I'm in trouble," Rodney choked out under his breath, his blue eyes wide in fear.

"And this time—" Bates was cut off as a small ball of fur and claws landed on his head, pushing his ridiculous uniform hat into his eyes. He lost his grip on Rodney, who immediately stepped out of his reach while Bates struggled with the hat. He looked up fondly at the ball of fluff.

"Perfect timing, Teyla, as usual," he complimented. The tawny desert cat gave out a happy meow before leaping into his outstretched arms. With a hurried, "See you later, Carson!" shot over his shoulder, Rodney was off running again with three Guards on his heels. Carson's face paled slightly before he clenched his jaw. He shook his head as he turned and walked off again, praying that he wouldn't have to pull some strings to get Rodney out of anything. Rodney was so blasted independent that he would probably never forgive him for it.

Rodney continued to run as fast as he was able, Teyla clutched in his arms. Fairly soon, it was obvious that the Guards were gaining. Rodney cursed his scientist's physique. Thinking quickly, he took a sharp left to run up some stone stairs set into the side of a nearby building. He got to the roof and stood on the edge huffing and puffing for a moment as he stared down. Laundry lines criss-crossed between buildings. They'd probably work well to hide his escape. If this even worked. He must be insane.

With a slightly shaking hand, Rodney reached into a pocket and pulled out a small green gem-like device he'd been working on for the past couple of weeks. He was fairly certain he'd finally fixed it. This was going to be one hell of a final test. He jumped when he heard the clatter of the Guards rushing up the stairs after him.

"So, if this doesn't work, you'll just land on your feet or something, right?" Rodney asked the small cat perched on his shoulder. She dug her claws a little more tightly into the fabric of his shirt and purred serenely. He supposed that was a good enough answer.

Activating the device, he slapped it onto his chest where it stuck and began to glow. The Guards reached the roof just as Rodney offered a parting grin and jumped.

He suppressed the urge (_barely_) to scream his head off as the air whistled by him. Teyla yowled her disapproval into his ear as her claws bit into his skin. He closed his eyes and braced himself as the ground rushed up to meet him. With a muted sizzling sound and a flash of green, he came to a stop on his rump, completely unharmed.

He opened his eyes slowly, almost not believing it had actually worked. When he realized that it had, he let out a triumphant shout. Teyla jumped off his shoulder and shot him a glare that seemed to say, _That was unnecessarily reckless of you._

"Hey, don't be like that," Rodney cajoled, deactivating the personal shield and putting it back in his pocket. "It worked, didn't it?"

He didn't pause for an answer (_she was a cat, after all_), but picked her up and walked out of the alley. It was a good idea to keep moving, even if he had thrown the moronic Guards off his trail. Taking winding side streets through the city, he pulled a nutrient bar out of his front pocket and snapped it in two, offering the smaller half to Teyla. He finished it in three bites, savoring the taste on his tongue. He hated not knowing where his next meal was going to come from. Nutrient bars were cheap but he liked them, and they'd do in a pinch. Which seemed to be the constant state of things, nowadays.

He tripped over what he thought to be a pile of rags. He nearly jumped out of his skin when he saw it rustling.

"Who's there?" he asked sharply, turning his back to the wall.

Rodney watched as two small children crawled out from under what he now recognized to be ratty old blankets. Their eyes were huge in their little faces, and as he stared at them, the taller boy winced, almost as if expecting a blow. The smaller boy (_he couldn't be more than four years old_) took one look at Rodney and smiled, toddling over to grab onto the physicist's threadbare pants with a grubby fist. Rodney held back a sneer. Why did kids always seem to like him so much?

"Can I pet your cat, mister?" the smaller boy squeaked out, staring up at Teyla who was still perched on his shoulder.

"Uh… sure, I guess," Rodney said awkwardly, pulling Teyla down into his arms so that she was within reach. The little boy cooed excitedly as he pet her, and soon the older boy had braved the few feet between them to come over and pet Teyla too. The cat purred happily under the attention.

Rodney would've liked nothing more than to pull back and go home. He hated kids. Besides, he should get somewhere more safe, as the Guards were probably still looking for him. But even he wasn't mean-hearted enough to ignore the hopelessness etched into their small faces. They were probably orphans. Rodney almost groaned in frustration. Why did his nearly non-existent conscience have to act up now?

After a long moment, Rodney broke the silence.

"Listen, I really have to go," he said. The little boys immediately stepped back with disappointed frowns. "But… well, here."

Before he could talk himself out of it, he reached into a pocket and grabbed the money he'd swindled (_earned_) just an hour previously. The older boy's eyes widened as Rodney pushed it into his small hand. Without another word, Rodney spun on his heel and walked swiftly away. Teyla crawled back up to his shoulder and purred into his ear as if she were proud of him. Rodney snorted. See how proud she was of him when they went hungry for the next couple of days.

With a sigh, he finally reached the block of dilapidated buildings that housed the place where he and Teyla lived. He walked around to the back where there was a small metal door. Pushing up a hidden panel on the wall, Rodney punched in a code on the keypad (_when one's apartment housed an illegal laboratory, one couldn't be too careful_) and then opened the now-unlocked door. The extra measure of security had taken him months of work and sacrifices to gain the resources to do, but it certainly saved him the worry that someone would accidentally stumble upon his secret trove of research. He'd already had it taken away once, and he wasn't too keen on losing it again. It may have been a bit of an overkill seeing as no one else would even have the slightest clue of what the keypad was, but Rodney was nothing if not paranoid. It paid to be in this stupid, backwards city.

Rodney set Teyla down on the floor with a couple of pats. His lab certainly wasn't anything glamorous; to the untrained eye it would simply look like piles of half-taken-apart junk, sheets of scribbled-upon paper, and strange contraptions set on top of rickety old tables. Most of the equipment was of Rodney's design, and the rest was so ancient it was nearly falling apart. It was frustrating having to work under such horrible conditions. Rodney winced as he reminded himself that it had taken him the better part of three years to even have this much. He walked a meandering path through the tables to reach a doorway at the far side of the room. It led to a set of stone stairs leading up to Rodney's bedroom.

Rodney climbed them and then flopped down on to the squeaky mattress of his bed. He propped himself up on his elbows and looked out the window at the fading rays of the sun. He suddenly felt incredibly tired. What he wouldn't give for the nice bed he'd had at the Scholar's Atrium, during that short time when he'd been going somewhere, when his work had been praised, when he'd actually been…worth something. His frustration at the outside world was slowly beginning to collapse into a weary resentment that almost seemed to be more aimed at himself. He was nothing but a broken, dirty, penniless—

His thoughts were cut off when Telya pounced onto the bed next to him. She crawled up his chest and butted her head into his chin. With a soft meow, she cuddled even closer to him. Rodney couldn't help the smile that creeped onto his face. Teyla kneaded her claws rhythmically into his shirt. Rodney glanced out the window again to where he could just see the bulking form of the palace outlined in the setting sun. It was a gorgeous view, really.

"You'll see, Teyla," he said as he stroked her soft fur. "One day, people will finally appreciate the work I've done, we'll be living in that palace, and we won't have to worry about anything except making more progress on my research."

Teyla butted her head against his chin again, and he could almost imagine that she agreed with him.

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To be continued... GIMME A REVIEW, PLZ! 


	3. There's So Much More

A/N: And away we go with Chapter 2! Please leave me a comment. I really have no idea if this thing is working for people. :D

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_**There's So Much More**_

The palace cut into the sky on a rocky outcropping that rose above the city. It had stood for generations beyond memory, made from a shining white marble stone that set it apart from the dull grays and browns of buildings that more common people lived in. Legend said it had been made by the servants of the Ancestors in a grand attempt to honor them. Those who set foot within its great halls often felt humbled by its majesty. Ornate carvings were set into the walls, statues lined the walkways, twisting corridors suddenly opened up into giant gardens set around glistening two-story high fountains. While it was much more complex than the simplicity of the Ancestors Gifts, it was just as impressive. The aura of awe that surrounded it seemed to prompt peace.

"I've never been so insulted!" a high pitched voice cut the air as a man resplendent in clothing made of rich silks burst in from the central garden. His long blond hair was pulled into a tail that reached nearly to the center of his back. His face was flushed, golden spectacles skewed to one side.

"My Lord Kavanaugh," came the soothing voice of Elizabeth Weir from her seat to the right of him. She set her book down and stood gracefully, her red gown flowing out behind her as she stepped closer to him. The golden circlet on her forehead glinted in the light almost as brightly as her shining auburn hair. "You're not leaving are you?"

"Not leaving? Of course I'm leaving. I don't know how you expect anyone to win him over. He's completely—"

"I might not finish that sentence," Elizabeth said diplomatically. "You _are_ talking about the Regent, remember?" She arched a fine eyebrow. Kavanaugh grumbled.

"Fine. I'm leaving," he stated. Without another word, he swept out of the room, headed for the palace gates. Elizabeth sighed. Kavanaugh had been the sixth one this week.

"John?" she called as she stepped out into the garden. The sun pouring onto the trees and flowers made their colors even brighter, and the great fountain sparkled almost with a light of its own. It was a beautiful day outside. That didn't seem to stop the small storm clouds of frustration from bursting in Elizabeth's head. "John!"

"Over here, Elizabeth," came the laconic reply. She followed the sound to find him sprawled out on a bench underneath a palm tree, one leg up and the other draping down to kick at the grass. He leaned against the trunk, the black of his clothes offsetting the silver bracelets and necklace he wore. Large emeralds glinted out from the jewelry, but somehow he exhibited an air of casualness that dampened the effect the finery had. Or maybe it wasn't so much an air of casualness as it was the mop of messy black hair.

John had never looked completely at home in the clothing of his station. It was probably because he'd only had a year to get used to it, Elizabeth mused. After Sumner had died so suddenly, John had been forced to take his place as Regent. Elizabeth felt a pang of grief at the thought of her deceased lover. Acting as Regent hadn't been easy on him, and though he was a hard and sometimes ruthless man, Elizabeth had come to love him in her way. Now that he was gone, she was truly feeling the weight of her title. It wasn't easy ruling as the acting High Consort either.

Of course, John must be feeling the burden of his responsibility now, but he should be better prepared for it than she had been. After all, John had been discovered at an early age and placed in the care of the scholars at the palace in order to prepare him for the day when he might eventually become Regent. Three Hopefuls were chosen every generation. They were first discovered through their closeness to the Ancestors as was exhibited by their innate abilities with the Gifts. After that, they spent years being trained to be both the mouthpiece for the Ancestors and the figurehead protector of the people. John had seemed happy to let Sumner take the position. Sumner had never liked John, anyway, and knowing he was next in line to rule as Regent had seemed to cause his hostility towards John to magnify. John was charismatic, of that there was no doubt, but he was also reckless and hot-headed, as was exhibited by his treatment of Lord Kavanaugh today.

"John—" she started in an angry tone, but was cut off by a quiet rumbling growl and a massive head bumping into the back of her knees. "Oh! You startled me, Ronon," she chastised, stooping down slightly to scratch behind the ears of the huge lion. Ronon took the attention and then slunk over to lay at John's feet. Elizabeth followed him to stand underneath the shade.

"Mind telling me why Kavanaugh stormed out as if you'd insulted his ancestry?" Elizabeth asked. John flashed a wicked grin.

"Oh, probably because I did," he answered, seemingly unconcerned. Elizabeth let out another tired sigh. She'd been doing that a lot lately.

"John, you have to stop rejecting everyone," she said, moving to sit next to him on the bench in a rustle of skirts. "The law says you must choose a Consort within a year—"

"Of being appointed Regent, I know," John cut her off. "Begging your pardon, Elizabeth, but the law is stupid."

"You only have two more weeks to choose," Elizabeth pointed out. John shrugged.

"Plenty of time," he said, giving her another lazy grin. She held his eyes in a questioning stare.

"Stop it," she said gently. "You know it's never worked with me." She watched as John turned away from her to scratch Ronon on the head. When he turned back, the devil-may-care expression he usually wore had turned into something much more intense.

"Elizabeth, I hate being forced into this. You know that the title of Regent makes me little more than a…a _cause_ to rally the Guards. All the people want is to see me pampered and complacent, not to make any real decisions. Everything is decided by the Council, and they've been controlling my life for the past 20 years." He looked away from her with a frown. "It seems like all anyone really wants from me is to watch me make the Gifts light up and then worship me as if I'm some sort of demi-god. I didn't ask for this."

"I know. It may be hard to affect change in our positions, but think about how much more we could do than those who have no voice. I've been working with the Council recently, and they're becoming more interested in the things I have to say. It's a slow battle," she explained. "Try to understand. As soon as the year is up, I remain here simply as High Consort to the Fallen Regent. I won't have the voice or the small amount of power that I do now. I want to make sure that you're taken care of." She let her affection for him suffuse her last words. She placed her hand on his arm and gave a slight squeeze. John smiled sadly, then stood and walked a few paces away.

"_You_ try to understand, Elizabeth," he said after a pause, looking back at her. "I haven't been outside the palace since I was 12 years old. It wasn't so bad before with Sumner… no one seemed as concerned with where I was every second of the day, and I was slightly free to have as much of my own life as the Council would allow…but now I feel like I'm some animal in a zoo. Hell, the only real friend I have is Ronon." The great lion gave a loud rumble at the mention of his name.

"You know that's not true, John," Elizabeth said. "I know it must be hard, but it's your duty—"

"My duty?" John cut her off, his eyes blazing with a quiet fury. "How the hell can it be my _duty_ when I've never been given a choice in the matter!?" He clenched his fists at his sides and turned his back to her. Elizabeth's eyes snapped up and she stood abruptly.

"Yes, it's unfair, but for once, maybe you should stop thinking about yourself and start thinking about your people. Because whether you want them or not, John, they _are_ yours." Her usually calm and melodic voice had taken on an intensity it rarely did. John had always been able to push her too far. "The bottom line is that you'll just have to learn to deal with it." And with one last heated glare in his direction, she left him with his thoughts.

John winced, then turned to walk deeper into the garden, Ronon trailing his heels. The beauty of the scenery failed to reach him. All the finery in the world was pointless when it was thrust upon you. The helplessness of his situation seemed to be closing in on him. His body was constantly pumping out adrenaline, but there was nowhere to run. At every turn he hit a wall, whether that was in the form of Elizabeth, the Council, or the responsibility that Sumner had left him.

He knew that he must choose a Consort, but his instincts all rallied against it. It wasn't just that he was helpless, he also refused to force his situation on anyone else. He didn't want to do to someone else what had been done to Elizabeth… how she'd been forced to abandon her home, even a man she loved, because Sumner had decided she was the most pleasing to him. If there was love involved, that might be different, but John didn't fool himself into thinking that he'd find love in the short matter of two weeks. He put up with the parade of men and women seeking his attention without really intending to pick any of them. None of them really wanted him, anyway; they all just wanted what they thought was an extravagant and care-free lifestyle. Most of them probably wouldn't care that they had to give up their freedom to attain it.

He stopped as he reached the edge of the garden. Golden cages filled with brightly colored song birds stood here to add a layer of music on top of the tinkling rush of the fountain. Suddenly, their songs seemed to take on a sad note to him; he certainly knew what it was like to live in a gilded cage. One of Ronon's large paws cuffed John lightly in the back of the thigh as he stared at the birds, jolting him out of his thoughts.

"Well," he said, pausing to give a short couple of pats to Ronon's muzzle, "it'd be a shame for _all _of us to be stuck here."

He walked over to the cages and one by one twisted the catch that opened the doors. In a flurry of feathers, he watched as the birds flew off into the endless sky that stretched beyond the palace walls.

Not for the first time, John wished that he could somehow taste the freedom of flight.

* * *

Elizabeth stormed into the throne room, her face twisted into a grimace of frustration. She sat down abruptly on the smaller of the two jeweled seats. John could be so childish sometimes. He hated responsibility and prized a freedom he'd never really had above everything else. If he only tried, she knew that he could make a much bigger difference than she could ever hope to. Times were changing, slowly but surely, and John's easy charisma would inspire more than enough loyalty in the Council to get past some of the bureaucracy and force them to take action. With the number of people starving in the streets, the unrest that permeated the middle class, and the dogmatic religious views being taken to extremes, action was needed now more than ever. 

She wished John could just get past his obsession with escaping it all. Elizabeth understood what it was like to give up freedom better than anyone. Though she still missed her home and the people she'd left behind most days, she had gained the unique position to perhaps stop similar pain from being inflicted on others. It was a sacrifice, but one that she hoped would eventually be for the greater good. If only she could get John to see it that way.

She was startled out of her brooding thoughts by a long shadow that fell over the folds of her skirt. Looking up, she locked eyes with the Leading Voice of the Council.

"Kolya," she greeted. "I didn't see you come in."

"Please forgive me if I startled you, my lady," he oozed with a bow. Elizabeth bit back a wince. Something about him had always made her uneasy. "Tell me," he continued, "how goes the search for the next High Consort?"

"You know John," she said. "I doubt we'll ever get him to agree to taking a lord or lady as Consort, and he seems even less interested in searching among the royalty of other lands."

"Thankfully Sumner had no such qualms, else we wouldn't have the pleasure of being graced with your presence," Kolya interjected. The pang of old loss hit Elizabeth. It seemed to be one of Kolya's favorite things to remind her of where she'd come from in a way that could never be overtly taken as an insult but that always stung just as painfully.

"What was it exactly that you wanted?" she asked, her tone of voice carefully hiding any animosity she felt towards him. Kolya flashed a smile that looked as if it had been painted on.

"I was wondering if I might offer my services in finding the Regent a suitable companion," he said. "All I require to do so is the Gem of Recall."

Elizabeth glanced down at where the Gift of the Ancestors dangled from her golden belt.

"You know I can't offer that, Kolya," she said. "It's a Gift that must only be held by the High Consort." Kolya's brows knitted together.

"I wouldn't worry about that, my lady. I will return it to you as soon as I'm finished with it."

As he said this, he tilted his left wrist slightly towards her. The motion was so subtle it wouldn't have been noticed except for the loud whirring noise that emitted from the thick bracelet he wore. A bright purple light suffused the room, and when it had passed, Kolya was gone.

Elizabeth had no memory of their conversation, nor did she notice the Gem of Recall had disappeared from her belt. It was as if the past few minutes had not occurred, and she continued to worry over the situation with John like there had been no interruption.

Kolya swept through the palace towards his personal laboratory. He briefly touched the manacle on his left wrist. The discovery of this particular Ancestors' Gift had been most fortunate for him. Of course, no one but the Regent was allowed to actually make _use_ of the Gifts, and anyone caught abusing them would face the highest amount of scorn. Kolya chuckled.

How would anyone punish him for an act they couldn't remember?

* * *

A cloaked figure slipped down the Great Hallway, keeping to the shadows. He let out a quiet curse as he noticed another Guard on patrol. Cutting back in order to avoid being seen, he hid behind a statue until the Guard had passed. This just wasn't working. It'd been hard enough sneaking out of his suite of rooms without being noticed. He was starting to wonder if it would be possible to escape at all. 

After another hour of attempting to get closer to an exit, John was about ready to admit defeat. Doubling back for the fifth time, he padded silently through several dark, interconnected rooms. It was the middle of the night, and the only light was coming from windows that allowed the moon to shine in. Except the only windows were on the right, and John could see a faint light creeping across the floor from the left. He decided to see where it was coming from. He wasn't making any real progress, anyway.

The light turned out to be a lamp lit in a small office near the infirmary. Peaking through the half-open door, John could make out a hunched figure seated at the lone desk. John rarely ventured to this part of the palace as his only memories of being in the infirmary were…unpleasant, to say the least.

As the man at the desk stretched and yawned, he turned slightly so that John could see his profile. With a grin, the Regent slipped into the room.

"Hey, Doc," he said abruptly after watching the man for a minute or two. Carson Beckett jumped and whirled around in his chair, eyes wide.

"Bloody hell!" he exclaimed. "Give a man some warning next time!"

John just grinned wider. They'd met when the foreign doctor had been appointed Head of Medicine at the palace, and Carson had insisted on examining all those who would be considered under his care. Unfortunately in John's eyes, the Regent had fallen under that category. His various training-related injuries over the years had taught him to hate hospitals. He hated doctors in general, actually, who were normally morons who did more harm than good with herbal cures and spiritual healing. John had expected the worst.

Only the strange thing about Carson was that he didn't buy into that school of thought at all. When John had braced himself for some lunatic to come into his quarters and rub different nasty smelling salves all over his skin, balance a piece of wood on his head and then tell him to grind it up and eat it with his eggs in the morning, Carson had bustled in, checked his pulse, looked into his eyes and throat, taken a blood sample, and then asked him if he had any health concerns he wished to discuss. John had blinked in amazement. No doctor had ever asked him how he actually felt before. Mostly, doctors were the ones who told John how he _should _be feeling according to their examination. If he didn't feel that way, they would scoff at him like he was an idiot.

Over Carson's time at the palace, John liked to think he and the doctor had built up a mutual respect of some sort. John still avoided the infirmary like he avoided the heat of desert sand, but Carson usually checked in with him once every other week to see how he was doing. They weren't really _friends, _per se, as John didn't get close enough to anyone for that. Most people didn't really see John but rather the figure he represented. It was better to keep his distance and save himself the disappointment. He'd never live up to anyone's expectations, anyway.

"What in the Ancestors' names are you doing up this late, anyway?" John asked.

"I could ask you the same thing. And roaming the halls in a cloak, no less? If I were a more suspicious man, I'd say you were up to something," Carson replied. He raised an eyebrow questioningly.

"Yeah, well, I've been having a bit of trouble stirring _up_ trouble, ironically," John said.

He steeled himself. There was really nothing for it. He probably wouldn't be able to do this on his own, and the respect he held for Carson prompted him to trust the man a little more than he would otherwise. The worst that could happen would be for him to end up caught and back in his own quarters, which seemed to be the way things would go if he continued to sneak around the corridors aimlessly looking for an escape route.

"So… if you're not doing anything too important, want to help me find a way out of the palace that isn't overrun by Guards?" John winced. There was just no way to say that casually. Carson's eyes widened.

"Is _that _what you're trying to do, then?" he asked. "Why do you think I would help you with such a nefarious plan?" There was a ghost of a grin about Carson's face.

"I could just order you to help me," John pointed out. Carson snorted.

"I'm sure you could. Doesn't necessarily mean I'd do it. I'm not technically one of your subjects, anyway." John chuckled. He never had been able to cow Carson with threats or the privilege of his position. It was one of the things he liked most about the doctor. As John's laugh faded, Carson's face suddenly became serious.

"I don't see what you hope to gain from this," he chastised. "There's no way they'd all just overlook the fact that you'd gone missing, you know."

"I know," John said, looking at the ground. Carson had the annoying ability of making him feel like a misbehaving child.

"Then what, pray tell, is the point of this exercise?"

"…I want to know what it's like again," John muttered after a long pause.

"What what's like?"

"Being… allowed to do what I want," John stated quietly. "Able to talk to people without them looking at me like—like I'm some sort of all-powerful freak. Being _free_…" John trailed off, refusing to meet Carson's eye.

He didn't like to talk about his feelings. With Elizabeth, he was flippant, acted like he didn't care. When that failed, (and it usually did) he'd act angry or frustrated. She was the only one who could get an honest answer out of him. He hated leaving himself vulnerable. If there was anything his training to become Regent had taught him, it was that weakness of any sort was unacceptable.

When he looked up, Carson was staring at him blankly. He looked more surprised than anything else. John was heartened by the fact that he didn't see any anger, or worse, pity.

"Look, Carson, I know that I won't be able to be gone long. It's not like I have any idea where I'm going or what I'm doing. Hell, the Guard'll probably find me by the end of tomorrow even if they're not trying too hard," John said. "But before I'm forced to pick some damn High Consort who I don't really know or care about all for the supposed good of my people… I want to feel what it's like to be _normal _again. Even if it's only for one day." Carson's eyebrows raised.

"You do realize that if I were to help you and I was found out, it could go very badly for me," he said. John frowned. He hadn't really thought about that.

It was true that many of the Council had vehemently opposed giving a _foreigner_ the position of Head of Medicine. That same faction was constantly looking for an excuse to get rid of Carson. It was frustrating for them that Carson did his job too well and was hailed by many to be the most brilliant medical mind of his time. Helping John to escape would provide the perfect opportunity for them to justify running Carson out. John sighed.

"I guess you're right. Listen, I'll just try to slip past them myself. Unless you plan on raising the alarm." John really hoped Carson wouldn't. If he did, it would be impossible to try again tomorrow night. With a short nod to the doctor, John turned to leave.

He was stopped when Carson grabbed onto his sleeve. He looked back to see the man's blue eyes twinkling in amusement.

"So dramatic. Always taking risks yourself and never letting anyone else do it for you," he said, standing abruptly. "Come on, then. The Council doesn't have me fearing them as much as they'd like, nor do I hope they ever will." With a short smile, Carson turned and beckoned him through the door that led out of his office and into the infirmary.

John stared after him for a moment, and then slowly began to follow. Carson led him through a softly lit wing that housed mostly empty beds and random equipment. After a few twists and turns, they came to a dark hallway that had an air of solemnity about it that was caused from more than just the darkly painted walls.

"Where are we?" John asked in a whisper.

"Ah, well… The apprentices like to call this the One Way Hall. It's the only way out of the palace that isn't guarded." Carson grimaced. "They don't really need to, I suppose. The only people we usually take through here are the ones who won't be coming back." He smiled weakly at John.

John's eyes widened. He prayed that this wouldn't be a bad omen for the rest of his trip. It _did_ have a morbid kind of humor about it, though. John would like nothing more than to never have to return to the palace. When he was forced to come back here, he only hoped this hallway wouldn't be the path he took the next time he managed to get out.

After walking for a few minutes, they finally came to the end of the hall. A large iron door stood at the end, bolted shut from the inside. Carson slid back the lock and pulled it open with a creak. His right hand went to grip John's shoulder.

"Good luck, lad," he said. "And when they catch you and you're forced back into this _horrible_ life of luxury," John snorted at Carson's obvious mockery, "know that if it ever gets too much for you, you're welcome to come have a chat with me. Preferably before you get it in your head to go gallivanting off alone." He paused. "You deserve a little holiday, though. I can't imagine what I'd do in your place. I'd probably go barmy." Carson let go of his shoulder.

John gave a genuine smile and turned to leave. Maybe he'd have to rethink the whole "not friends" situation between him and Carson after all.

"Oh, wait," Carson called after him. John paused on the threshold. "If you're thinking you_ don't_ want the Guard to catch up with you for a while, it might do you good to look up an old friend of mine…"


End file.
